


Another Veil Parts

by Canis_cosmos



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Comfort/Angst, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Hannibal is a hopeless opportunist, Hannibal takes liberties, M/M, Post-Canon, Will Graham Loves Hannibal Lecter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:14:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26140201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Canis_cosmos/pseuds/Canis_cosmos
Summary: Hannibal finds himself caught between two realities, delighted to find he has been wrong in some of his assumptions. He and Death have a little chat. Hannibal saves Will.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 12
Kudos: 105





	Another Veil Parts

Hannibal came to awareness with the rattle and slide of the surf behind him, waves inquisitively sifting through the pebbles at the ocean's edge. At his side, face tilted towards him, Will lay on his belly on the coarse shingle, unconscious. His lips were close to blue, but Hannibal could see the slight rise and fall of his back, and knew he still lived.

Relief flooded him, and while a distant part of him was surprised that he didn’t register more pain, the rest of him moved towards Will with singular focus, intent on checking his vitals.

His fingers passed right through the meat of Will’s arm, his knuckles buried in the man’s warmth, and Hannibal froze. He drew his hands back and assessed them. They were much the same as they always were, their pallor healthier than he might have expected, considering the prolongued exposure to the elements, and blood loss.

Slowly, as though it were a rare and revelatory gift, he moved his hands to Will’s back and lowered them into his flesh, fingers moving without resistance through skin and muscle to the spaces where the man’s lungs and heart would be. Medical knowledge aside, he could feel the faint traces of where tissues differentiated, and caressed the edge of his beating heart.

Exploring up through Will’s throat and teeth, thumbing the thick muscle of his tongue, Hannibal’s mind simultaneously assessed and discarded the varying possibilities of what could precipitate such a phenomenon. The lingering candidates to an explanation promised precious little positivity.

Hannibal hesitated a moment before transitioning up through the meninges and sampling the delicate swirls of Will’s brain. The brain has more differentiated tissues than any organ in the body, and running his fingers through Will’s brain allowed for a faint but incredibly complex bouquet of impressions.

If he had still had a physical biochemical body, the hormone release at the experience would have made him shiver. Instead the sensation of elation was almost entirely cerebral, and Hannibal accepted that he was most certainly dead.

With a gentle caress through the whisper sensation of curls, Hannibal withdrew his hand and looked up to stare down the shoreline. He marvelled at the continuation of his own experience, and laughed. He had expected death to be the end. How delightful to have been so entirely wrong in this one particular assumption.

Behind him someone prefaced their words with a low purring hum, in an effort not to startle.

“Hummm. I do not think I have seen one like you before.”

Hannibal spun in his crouch. The deep rich voice belonged to an exotically beautiful man with ebony skin and dark robes, who looked at him with a cocked head and curious clinical detachment. Hannibal stood and stepped towards him, a similar expression on his own face. They studied each other in silence.

“Death keeps getting more and more delightful.” Hannibal ventured, after a moment of polite scrutiny. “How refreshing to be in so much ignorance.”

The man showed pearly teeth, bared somewhere between a smile and a predatory display. He tilted his head the other way.  
“You claim ignorance, yet you call me by my name and flatter me.”

Hannibal’s smile widened as another surge of fierce intellectual curiosity flushed through him. Not quite an emotion, not without a body, but a strong feeling none-the-less.

Hannibal gave a short bow he had not employed much in America, but which he had learned as a child of Lithuanian nobility. “Hannibal Lecter.” He introduced himself, omitting his titles for the baubles they were in the presence of Death personified.  
Death inclined his head, acknowledging the courtesy but communicating with the slight gesture that this information was already known to him. His eyes flicked to Will and back.

“Tell me. Who was this man to you?”

Hannibal marvelled at the man’s voice, immeasurably pleased that even without ears he could appreciate the aesthetics of sound. On a parallel track he made calculations about his situation.

“You have me at a disadvantage.” Some cheer and a small measure of reprimand in Hannibal’s tone. “Forgive my reticence; there must be a great many things you know of, which I could only guess at. There must be comparatively few things of which I have knowledge that you covet. Without knowing how forthcoming you are inclined to be with your own knowledge, I feel it prudent to guard my own. For now.”

Death moved closer, raising a hand to grip Hannibal’s face with icy fingers and turn it to better understand the plains of his face. “Ceding your mortality so quickly. Exploring your non-corporeality within minutes of ascertaining your new circumstances, and laughing as the realisation strikes you. The laws you understood of the universe are stripped away, you have no knowledge or conception of your fate from here; your acknowledgement and apparent enjoyment of your change in circumstances is unique.”

“In all of human history?” Hannibal asked with a slight smile, lifting his face from Death’s fingers. “I can hardly credit that.”

Lowering his finely shaped hands, glossy black with fine pale fingernails, Death responded without offense. “I meet each of you at the culmination of your lives, each of you shaped differently by the streams of your experience. Every reaction is different, but yours falls outside of the usual pattern.”

“So, we truly are all unique and special snowflakes.”

Death’s ears pricked at the cynical humour in Hannibal’s words, as though unable to completely intuit the full meaning.

“Indisputably. Though there are statistic similarities. My role is to soothe the transition. You, however, do not appear to require soothing.”

Hannibal took a step back, and then another when he realised he was standing in Will. He looked up again, and could not completely supress the distain and smoulder of anger in his chest at Death’s words.

“The Universe sends you to comfort the recently dead? That is your function?” He had to work uncharacteristically hard to keep the bitterness from his voice. As a psychiatrist, he should be able to read something into why the idea of the universe caring enough to send an ambassador should make him feel so enraged, but that dissection would have to wait for the moment.

“The universe… no. I am not of the universe. Nor are you, ultimately. This part of you.” This answer was, indeed, soothing. Hannibal felt the mild unidentifiable panic float away.

At his feet, Will stirred, and Hannibal dropped to one knee, reaching for him and pulling back as he remembered how futile touch would be. Will gave a wracking cough and moaned in pain. For another long moment he didn’t move at all, then he rolled onto his back and coughed some more. His eyes, when he reluctantly opened them, were red and sore. Will squinted through Hannibal at the sky that was lighting in increments above them, before raising himself up on his elbows and looking around the beach.

All of Hannibal’s perception was now focused on Will, Death’s dark shape a forgotten presence on the other side of him. Will, perceiving himself alone, allowed his emotions free reign across his face. Confusion was first, as he felt up at the wound on his face. Next, horror, as he looked down at his sodden blood-stained clothes, and to either side of him along the beach. Panic, as he scrambled to his feet, and Hannibal felt skewered with a deceptively physical sensation of pain and joy and longing when Will stared out at the ocean, and asked it quietly: “Hannibal?”

The sea had no answer for him, continuing its serene and eternal cycle of breathing in and out along the shoreline. Will stumbled, and lacking the strength to stand, lowered himself back onto the pebbles.

“Generally the dead linger with their own bodies. You seem more attached to this one. Were you lovers?” Death asked, drawing Hannibal’s attention back to the mystery of his own situation, though his eyes remained on the man who was shivering and curling his limbs around him to hold his scant heat.

“We never were.” Hannibal said distantly, but a smile played about his lips.

“You were intimate though? In some way?” Death prompted, moving closer.

Hannibal finally brought his eyes back to the figure of Death. “Yes.” He said, quietly.

“Hummm.” Death turned his gaze to the horizon. “So much about you creatures I will never understand.” He observed wistfully.

Hannibal’s interest piqued again, a glimmer of opportunity catching his thoughts. He rose to his feet, looking at the anthropomorphism in a new light. “You are curious. As am I. Perhaps we can come to some arrangement.”

Death blinked slowly. “People have tried to bargain with me before. I have no power to restore you to life. Only to release you from it.”

Looking around the beach with amusement, Hannibal asserted, “And I appear to have misplaced my body. No, what I had in mind was more of an exchange of information. Quid pro quo. I was a psychiatrist in life, I have a fairly in-depth understanding of the human psyche, although, perhaps from an unconventional vantage point. You no doubt have an understanding of this new metaphysical reality – I am eager to learn more.”

Death remained still as he pondered the idea. Hannibal was refining his own arguments in case further convincing was needed, when Will shook himself and staggered to his feet again. Hannibal walked around to see his face, surprised at the tears that wet his face, the desolation in his eyes. Will took a step towards the sea.

“No Will.” Hannibal said, gently, a note of warning in his voice. Will, as though he could hear him and was – as always – intent on disobeying, took another step towards the water.

Hannibal looked at Death. “What will happen if he dies now? Would he join us?”

“That, I cannot say. It would be his choice, coupled with what he felt he deserved.”

Frowning, Hannibal looked back at his protégé. “That does not sound promising.”

Will took another step towards the sea, trembling with more than the cold.

Hannibal said ‘no’ again and refused to move back, and with his next step Will passed right through him. Hannibal felt a near-visceral thrill, his tepid form briefly penetrated by Will’s heat, and then it was gone again, and Will was striding towards the sea with mounting resolve.

His determination hardened within him, Hannibal about faced and marched after the slighter man, whose feet were already disappearing into the foamy tide. He stepped right up behind him and thrust his hand into the curling pockets of his brain and flexed.

Will froze, a gasp on his lips.

“That’s it.” Hannibal cooed. “Come back to dry land.”

“Hannibal?” Will breathed, disbelief and sorrow saturating the sound.

Hannibal reached out with his other hand and placed it in the meat of his shoulder, urging, “Walk back with me, back to beach. Come on.”

Will turned, shakily, and Hannibal felt the synapses of his brain threading through his fingers as he rotated. Will brought his eyes to Hannibal’s, who realised he could see him now. “Hannibal.” He said again, and Will’s voice was agonised, fingers reaching out to touch him and passing through him like a shadow. A pained cry tore from Will’s lips and he dropped to his knees in the cold surf.  
Hannibal moved his hand down again to keep contact with Will’s mind. Keeping his voice affectionate but adding a note of insistence: “Will, you must leave the water.”

Mouth lax, Will nodded and pushed himself up, half walking and half crawling out onto the raised pebbled shore. On the beach, Death regarded them both with his head at its inquisitive angle.

Will tried to collapse again, but Hannibal bullied him further up the beach, until he was convinced that Will would not be in danger of the rising tide, should he pass out again. Certainly his condition was considerably better than Hannibal’s own must have been, but his survival was not yet guaranteed.

“You’re not a hallucination. You’re… you’re dead, aren’t you.”

“Ever the insightful mind, Will.”

He gave another strangled sob. “How is this possible?”

“I have yet to ascertain that myself, but if you thought death would keep me from you, you were quite mistaken.” He looked away from Will then, at his silent companion. “At least, for now.” Looking back at Will he could see confusion on the man’s face as his eyes scanned over his shoulder, unable to see the third man. Though ‘man’ no longer seemed an accurate descriptor for their spectator.

“Is there someone else with us?”

“Yes and no. Will, I don’t know how long I can stay here. But you have to promise me you’re not going to do anything stupid.”

Will hunkered in on himself again, shivering more fiercely now. “Like what?” He asked archly, one of his bitter laughs hiding in his throat. “Like breaking you out of prison? Like throwing us off a cliff?”

“Like killing yourself.”

Will snorted around a sob. “How am I meant to go back? How am I meant to go back after everything I’ve done? How am I meant to go on wi-” Will closed his mouth on the words, but Hannibal felt, in the electrical signals sparking through his fingers, that perhaps the omitted letters spelled ‘-t-h-o-u-t – y-o-u.’

Hannibal sighed, out of habit, attempting unsuccessfully to ease the sweet feeling of tender satisfaction and the bitter upwelling of sadness.

“Life is precious.” He said. “I know you find it daunting, and slow, and aggravating-” Will laughed brokenly at the word, and Hannibal smiled at him before continuing. “I always took the opportunity to learn as much as I could. You must do the same. It is too early to say for sure, but I suspect ‘living’ may be what we do to equip ourselves for what comes next.”

Hannibal tried to cup the uninjured side of Will’s face, some of his palm disappearing into the pale flesh of his cheek.

“You have already come so far. You have always surprised me. I would love you to surprise yourself.”

Will nodded, shuddering with the cold, wet hair in his eyes, mouth miserable and parting slightly to gasp air in and out. It reminded Hannibal of how he had looked that night in Baltimore, curled on the floor against the kitchen wall with rain slicked hair and blood soaking through his shirt. Hannibal felt a pang of regret, and it must have showed in his eyes, because Will said: “N-no. Don’t.” As though reliving the same moment and sensing Hannibal’s intent to leave.

“You have to go. You must get warm. Get help. It will be hard for you to play the hero, but it’s what you must do to survive.” Hannibal smiled grimly. “Tell them you killed us all.”

“No.” Will groaned again, and Hannibal tried for a firmer grip on Will’s brain.

“Yes Will. My cunning boy. Go and deceive them, then go and discover how to live for yourself. I suspect, even after all this time, you have never given yourself that opportunity to do that. Claim it while you can.”

Will’s eyes were large and damp as he searched Hannibal’s own, reaching a hand up to paw through Hannibal’s incorporeal form to try and stop him as he moved to stand.

Hannibal hesitated, too taken with Will’s raw emotion to deny him.

“Will I see you again?” Will asked.

Hannibal turned again to look at Death. Death stood as a statue, observing and giving nothing away. He brought his eyes back to Will’s. “I cannot say for sure. It would seem the decision is as much yours as mine. But I can promise, for my part, that I will do everything in my power to keep that possibility alive.”

Hannibal stood then, and smiled down at him. “I love you Will.” He removed his hand from Will’s brain and stepped back with another unnecessary sigh, the slight catch in it betraying his own deep grief, though no one but Death could hear it now.

Will continued to sit and shiver on the beach, eyes having lost focus as Hannibal stepped away, and for a moment Hannibal worried he had damaged Will’s brain in some fashion. Will’s eyes slowly cleared though, and he once more clambered wearily to his feet, huffing with the pain and distress. He looked vaguely about, and quietly muttered: “I love you too.” Then a pause. “You bastard.”

Hannibal wondered at all the sensations the words wrought; chemicals, neurotransmitters and hormones apparently only a biological delivery service for emotions that transcended the physical.

Will turned and groped his way among the rough stones at the cliff base, slowly moving towards the fissure in the cliffs that led back to vegetation and eventually the cliff-top. Hannibal watched him go, a smile ghosting his lips.

He felt Death’s presence beside him, musing with assessing eyes the diminishing form of Will, then turning that gaze to Hannibal. “It seems you are quite adept at soothing also.” He said finally.

Hannibal’s lips twitched, his eyes sliding to the beautiful dark visage. “Have you ever seen my work? Collected ‘souls’ from my studio, so to speak?”

“Many times.”

Hannibal noted the lack of judgement in the voice with a raised eyebrow. “I doubt they would have agreed with you.”  


Death moved his attention back to the living man. “They cursed you, it’s true. Most of them curse me too. Even that one there is doing it now.”

“Oh, you mustn’t take it personally.” Hannibal said pleasantly, drinking in the retreating figure while he was still visible. “He’s a cantankerous young man, but deeply sympathetic. Fascinating. I think you’d get along well.”

Will disappeared, and Hannibal felt a part of him break off as he was lost from sight. It was disconcerting, more disconcerting than being dead, or Death himself, so he returned his attention there.

“I must thank you for your indulgence. You have been most patient and accommodating.”

“I have also been tending to other matters.” Death acknowledged. “And I have been considering your proposal.”

“Indeed?”

“Normally I would, at this point, take you across to the next plane. But perhaps you would like to tarry with me a while. I must continue to go about my business, but while I do so, we could attempt this ‘quid pro quo’, as you suggested.”

Hannibal placed a hand on Death’s shoulder, who seemed surprised at the gesture.

“It would be an honour.”

**Author's Note:**

> Probably a one-shot, although I do have a few more scenes in mind... 
> 
> Please let me know if you liked it, kudos and comments bring me great joy!


End file.
